


Straight to Hell

by varenoea2



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:50:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4236165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varenoea2/pseuds/varenoea2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why is Murdoc green nowadays? How did Noodle end up in hell, and how did she get out? And what happens when a bored Lucifer decides that he wants to jam with a rock star?</p><p>This will be no picnic. It will be a battle - a musical battle made in hell. And the prize is Noodle...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the characters or the location where the story takes place. All of these belong to Jamie Hewlett and Damon Albarn, excepting the devil, who is a folklore character. This is a piece of fan fiction, written solely for fun, and no financial profit is being made.
> 
> PS: a solo battle is when two instrumentalists play solos alternately, each trying to out-awesome the other. (This can get very tedious in real life... for everyone except the players.)

_NOTES: Rise of the Ogre explains that Noodle’s „death” in El Manana was staged by Murdoc, who really used the explosions to kill off his homicidal record boss Jimmy Manson. Noodle had a parachute and jumped to safety. Or at least, that’s how they planned it. Nobody actually saw her get out._

 

Noodle asked to be left alone. So there’s no reason to worry when she disappears. It all went as planned. But six months later, Murdoc slowly begins to think that Noodle might write him a text message, or an e-mail, or something. Maybe a postcard from wherever she is vacationing. Six months is an awfully long time, even when you want to be left alone.

After eight months, she doesn’t send him a Happy New Year message. That’s strange. She always used to, even when they lived in the same house. Murdoc gets a little pissed-off and decides to call her. But her old number has been deleted.

The same day, he calls 2D and asks if he has seen Noodle. 2D’s mobile still works, and he answers immediately. But he hasn’t heard from her since El Manana either.

Murdoc calls Russel, but nobody answers his mobile – for days, and then for weeks. He doesn’t call back. Well, that’s as may be. Russel is a grown man. If he doesn’t want to be found, he’s probably had another ghost-related incident and wants to be left alone.

But Noodle is a little girl, karate expert and brainiac or not. Maybe she’s hiding, maybe her government is trying to catch up with her, and to finish off the last witness of the child soldier program for which she was raised. That’s what Murdoc thinks. The other possibility – the government has already found her and finished the work – is right out. Unthinkable.

Over the next months, he tries to find clues along the way. He asks everybody who knew her. He even visits Osaka for a few days, to talk to her old trainer. But when he rings his doorbell, there is only a rustling sound in the interphone, and as soon as he says his name, the rustling stops. Nobody opens. When he comes back the next day, the lights are out, and the blinds down. As if the place has been deserted for a holiday.

Well, you can’t spend all your time searching for a precocious runaway. Especially if you’ve got time, and money, and a lot of women who are interested in you. But slowly, the quest leaves deeper and deeper grooves in Murdoc’s mind. He finds himself thinking about Noodle’s whereabouts every day. Sometimes at night, he dreams that his phone rings and it’s Noodle’s voice on the other end of the line, and she says “Look out your window!” and there she is, on the dark street, in a big yellow mac, and waves up at him. Then she comes in, and they have tea, and he asks her: “Where have you been?” and she answers something like “Breeding bunnies in Peru”, or “Became a Pokemon card game champion in the secret World League!”

Waking up from this dream always ruins his day.

New Year’s Eve comes, and goes, and Murdoc spends it somewhere very loud and very busy, and not very rich in textiles. He’s having a whale of a time. The next afternoon he wakes up in his own bed – he must be getting on a bit if he actually makes it home after drinking – and feels quite great, in fact, except for the hangover.

Must have been one hell of a party. Pity he only remembers the first two hours, he thinks. Another year gone. _What did I do last year at this point?_

The next moment, he’s stone cold sober.

Today, it’s been one year since he started looking for Noodle.

And he hasn’t found her yet. His heart starts to race. She’s been gone for 20 months. 12 of them spent looking, and finding no clue. Absolutely none.

A panic attack sets in. An honest, true-to-life panic attack. Murdoc’s heart starts pounding so hard he thinks he’s going to choke. _Where_ is she? _How_ is she? He has tried everything a human can do, right? Has the earth swallowed her? Is she even alive? Is she being held captive, tortured, abused? No, not Noodle, he thinks. She would kick their asses – whoever was trying to harm her. But if so, where is she? Why is she gone?!

Then it occurs to him to turn to the Lord. His Lord, that is. He’ll know. He knows anything about all mortals alive, whether they’re on his list or not.

Murdoc sags back onto his bed. The panic leaves him slowly. He should have thought of this months ago! The Boss will help him out. Of course he will. It’s not much to ask, right? Just: is she alive, is she okay, where is she? In this order.

He gathers his wits. First things first: Get dressed. Then get chalk, get the black candle, and the rest is a formality. He’s done it a dozen times.

Murdoc finds it hard to shake old habits, even though he’s a millionaire now. He’s currently staying in a tiny old flat with wooden floorboards, which are ideal for drawing chalk pentagrams on. The spell works so fast the ex-lightcarrier practically jumps out of the circle, and burns his neatly-groomed fur on the black candle.

Murdoc watches his spiritual leader, temporarily poodle-shaped, and his heart beats fast. „Hi there.”

„Hello yourself“, says Lucifer, and grins, and wags his tail.


	2. Chapter 2

Here they are: Murdoc, kneeling on the floor in the light of a candle, and Satan, temporarily poodle. He always does that when he visits Murdoc, because he knows how Murdoc likes Faust. He’s trying hard, you have to hand it to him.

Murdoc exhales. “That was quick.”

“Of course. You’re one of my favourite customers, my dear man. Always helping the cause, especially among young people. What’s so urgent?”

“I have a question. I’ve lost a friend. A little Asian girl, about so high.”

“Yeees?” The poodle bares its teeth in a grin.

There’s something very unpleasant about the way Satan said this, Murdoc thinks. He feels his scalp prickle. “Noodle. You know the one I mean. Is she dead?”

“No.”

 _Oh, thank Go… thank the poodle._ Murdoc’s heart beats faster, but this time with anxious joy. “Alive?”

“Yes. Quite.”

There it is again, this unpleasant tickling on his scalp. “You sound very sure.”

“I know for a fact. I’ve got her at my place.”

“What?!” Murdoc’s jaw falls down on his collar. “ _You_? Are you kidding me?!”

“Murdoc”, says the poodle almost offendedly, “you know that I can’t lie. Not Like Some People, ahem. I’m keeping her in one of the lower hells. Oh come on, don’t look so shocked. You of all people.” The poodle sits on its butt and scratches its ear with a hind leg. “She was fair game. Accomplice in the murder of her record company boss, at the tender age of thirteen! Remember who talked her into it? You. You made her do it. Just thirteen, and no heroic rescues or other good deeds to her name! So I scooped her up. She wasn’t, strictly speaking, dead, but it’s not like anybody noticed during that big blast.”

“But… it’s been almost two years”, says Murdoc, and his voice is not his own. It’s apparently someone else’s, that’s come to help him out when he can’t speak.

“Has it?” Lucifer cocks his head. “I lose track of time so easily.”

“Are you telling me that you’ve been torturing her for two years?!”

“Torturing, nah. Just scaring her a little. You’d be amazed what secret fears she has. Clowns are among the worst. I’m running out of white face-paint down there, I’m telling you.”

_Breathe in. Breathe out. You can’t beat him up. You can’t threaten him, you can’t force him or buy him. You have to find some other way._

“Actually, I was wondering when you’d ask”, says the poodle and struts up and down in front of him. Then it cocks its head again, looking very cute. “I was rather hoping you’d humour me, come down and rough up the place. I get so bored sometimes. You hardly call any more, these days!” he adds with a reproachful puppy look.

“You… you abducted her just to see what I would do?”

“Yeah. Well. Didn’t know it would take you this long to catch up.” The poodle bares its teeth again.

Murdoc squeezes his eyes shut. “Stop being a poodle.”

“I thought you rather liked that little number.”

“I can’t stand to see you doing puppy-eyes right now.”

“Tisk. Alright. You can open them again. I’ve gone reptile.”

Murdoc opens his eyes, and sees a little speckled adder on the floorboards. It stretches its head up and darts its tongue out at him. It’s less fluffy than the poodle, but still disturbingly cute.

“So anyway”, it hisses. “What _are_ you going to do about it?”

Murdoc sets his teeth firmly. “You want some entertainment, did I get that right?”

“Oh yes.” The snake wiggles its butt area with joy. Sometimes Murdoc wonders if Satan is really an evil overlord, or a very big child who holds a magnifying glass over ants just to see what will happen.

“You want me to, as you put it, rough up the place.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, you’re the rock star. I trust you to come up with something.”

“And then you will release Noodle?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” Lucifer should raise his hands now, but he’s got none. So he raises his tail. “Let’s gamble for her, eh? That could be fun.”

“You know I only win when I cheat, and I can’t cheat with you, because you’d notice”, growls Murdoc.

“True. There’s nothing in the world that you’re really great at, if you’re honest about it”, the snake says and wags its head. “Except staying alive against all odds.”

“Hey”, Murdoc bursts out. “I’m the best fucking bass player on earth, let’s not forget that!” And then it dawns on him. He really isn’t the world’s greatest bass player, even though he would sooner bite off his tongue than admit it. But he’s quite good. This might be his chance! A tiny chance, but a chance.

So he clears his throat and continues. “What about a solo battle? _The Devil Went Down to Georgia_ – style?”

“My fiddle against your bass?”

“Yep.”

“Brilliant!” hisses Lucifer and grins. This looks a bit creepy, because the corners of his adder mouth are far behind his eyes. “I get to jam with a real rock star. Hehe, that’ll be fun!”

Murdoc grins too. Satan’s always had a soft spot for tunes. “And if I win, you release Noodle.”

The little snake nods happily. “Sure, and you can go home too. And if you lose, you stay. Well, both of you.”

Murdoc swallows. “Stay?”

Lucifer sees Murdoc’s ashen face and tuts. “Really, I’m not asking anything new from you. You’ve already signed over your soul. It just means that you lose the next, uh, 30 or 40 or 50 years of your earthly existence. And I get to harvest your soul right now.”

So this is what it boils down to. Murdoc tries to stop his hands from shaking, but it’s no use. So he tries to play for time. “Have you really got her?” he hisses.

“Told you, my boy. I can’t lie. Agreements with the devil are so binding, even I can’t break them.”

“And you won’t turn on me if I win, and refuse to set her free.”

“Of course not.” The snake narrows its eyes angrily. “Is this a way to speak to your Dark Lord? Have I ever given you any reason to mistrust me? I’ve kept all my promises, haven’t I?”

“Well, yeah, you have”, admits Murdoc. “Eventually.”

“So there. Get your bass and come with me.”

Murdoc swallows again. He looks around the room, the dark walls, the messy floor, the books and the instruments he’s held dear for the last few years. An hour ago, had no clue that this could be his last day on earth. This is an awfully short goodbye, considering that it’s likely forever.

But then, he spent last night getting laid and hammered, and today looking for Noodle. If he had known that this could be his last day, would he have spent it any differently? Probably not.

There is no choice. He must try it, and he will. And if he loses, at least he’ll be down in hell with her, to keep the clowns away…

“Fine”, he says, and pretends that he's not dizzy and piping hot with fear. “I’m game.”

“That’s my boy!” Lucifer jumps happily and pats Murdoc’s ankle with his tail. If he was in his proper form, he would have slapped him on the back.

“What about an amp?”

“We need no amps where we’re going.”

Murdoc hooks his bass off the wall and steps inside the chalk circle. The snake wraps itself around his ankle.

“Come thou with me!” it hisses, and off they go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the games begin.

When Faust realized that he cared about Margaret – that was the moment the devil dragged him to hell, Murdoc remembers. But there’s no use crying over spilt milk. He’ll have to go through with this, to the bitter end.

The landing is remarkably soft. There are a few luke-warm flames dancing around them, but they quickly die. This is not the first time Murdoc has been in hell. Nothing has changed down here – rocks and flames and more rocks and more flames. This is the lounge, where visitors get exactly what they expect. Special guests like himself, however, get to look behind the scenes.

And there’s Satan himself, of course, who is no longer a little snakelet, but a 6’7 red guy in a pinstriped suit, with horns and one polished shoe, and one goats’ hoof. He grins a huge grin, and slaps Murdoc on the back. “Welcome home, son.”

Murdoc feels very small next to Satan, especially with his bass in hand. There’s no way you can hold a bass guitar in hand without looking like a badly-designed vase.

There is a receptionist in the lounge, all huge and red and bristly, sitting casually on her rock – but really keeping an eye on who comes and goes. The only thing that tells you is the notepad beside her, and the biro in her chest bristles.

“Welcome, Mr Niccals”, she smiles. “Come to stay, this time?”

Murdoc can’t even fake a smile, his heart is beating too fast. “Hi, Clara. Shouldn’t think so. We’ll see.”

“Let’s get away from the riffraff”, says the devil. “Come on.”

In front of them, there’s a long queue of people, to go through a large black gate in the distance. Some of the have obviously died a violent death; some of them are very old people in nightshirts and slippers. Someone consists of nothing but a leg with a slipper on the foot, and a flame where the torso should be.

“Spontaneous combustion”, the devil explains. “We’re taking the shortcut to the innermost circle.”

He leads Murdoc to a broad door that is guarded by a few bulky but busty she-devils. They respectfully yield for their master, but they eye Murdoc with a kind of appetite that scares him a bit. They’ll probably be waiting, whenever he ends up here forever. He’s not sure if that’s fantastic, or horrible.

“Can I see Noodle before we start?” Murdoc asks.

“Not now. You get to spend all eternity with her later.” Satan opens the door, and the doorframe is filled by sickish-green flames, so thick you can’t see through them. “Watch out – hellfire! We’ve got it for safety reasons. To keep the riff-raff out of the offices, and the private suites. It doesn’t harm you, exactly, but… it does things with you when you get too close. You’ve never been this deep in hell, have you?”

“No.”

“Oh well. Hellfire is nothing to be afraid of, but it’s gonna cause you immeasurable pain unless you’re with me.” He holds out his hand, and Murdoc takes it. Each finger is as thick as a banana.

Lucifer walks into the wall of green flames and is immediately out of sight. But Murdoc still feels his hand, pulling him through. The fire doesn’t feel warm when he holds his hand next to it, so what could possibly happen?

His hand goes through the fire first, and it feels as if his flesh is withering right off his bones. Murdoc yelps, and resists the temptation to pull it back. _For Noodle_. There is no other way.

He feels gravity tear at his face muscles. He feels the muscles in his legs shrink into dry little spindles. His skin is pulled taut over his face, pulling his lips up over his teeth, like you’d see in a mummy. He groans in agony – not pain, just the agony of mortality – and then he’s through.

There’s flesh on him again. He stubs the inside of his mouth with his tongue, and he can’t believe how good it feels to have juicy, supple mucous membranes in his mouth.

 _For Noodle_.

They’re standing in a corridor. There are offices on all sides, and devils are walking to and fro with stacks of paper.

Murdoc quickly lets go of Satan’s hand.

“Pretty neat and organized, this place”, he remarks politely.

“Hell doesn’t run itself”, sighs Satan, “and unlike the Old Man, I can’t keep an eye on absolutely everything. Come on, we’re going to my drawing-room.”

They take the elevator up. The devil presses a button that says “Master Suite”, and the elevator rumbles upward and finally stops. The door opens. And the sight of the devil’s private suite is pretty amazing.

“Not bad!” A sigh escapes Murdoc’s lips. The walls are anthracite rock, there are gargoyles and horribly distorted faces everywhere, and velvet curtains and Chesterfield sofas – also in velvet – and statues of naked people, doing… things. It looks as if H.R. Giger tried to design a boudoir.

Lucifer smiles tiredly. “Oh, that’s just the corridor. Come on.” He thrusts a large black double-door wide open, and Murdoc follows him into the drawing-room.

Oh yes. This place has got style. Big velvet sofas and chairs, oriental rugs, gargoyles and erotic statues. A table with gryphon brass feet. And there is a very large window front from which the devil can overlook the lower pits of hell, and the work of his henchmen.

“Take a seat. Have a drink?”

Murdoc shakes his head. _Why all these nice gestures,_ his mind screams _, when all you want is harvest my soul once and for all?_ “I…” He clears his throat. “I play standing up.”

“Suit yourself.” The devil downs a glass of cognac and cracks his knuckles. “Ah. Let’s get down to business.” He opens an antique-silver cabinet and takes out a battered-looking violin and a bow.

Murdoc tugs a string on his bass testingly. He doesn’t expect an audible sound – but there is, and it’s a tone that can make a musician cry with happiness. _Booooom_. He plucks the string again, stronger this time, and the walls shake. The devil grins, wedges the tiny violin under his big red chin and runs his bow over the strings, and the tone is heart-rendingly gorgeous.

Murdoc sets his teeth and remembers not to let the beautiful sound get to his head. He’s got to use it, climb up on it, play like he never played before. He can’t rest on his laurels for a split-second. Everything is at stake.

Little Noodle is somewhere down there, being tortured with clowns, and it’s all his fault.

“Let the games begin”, he says through his teeth.

“Sure. I’ll start, if you don’t mind.” Lucifer gets up. And the games begin.

It’s a slow little melody he starts with. Murdoc picks it up and easily turns it into a similar theme. Then the devil plays a faster phrase. Murdoc answers with something even more interesting – so far, it’s not hard.

But the third phrase is wicked, and Murdoc has to undig some of his best phrases and link them with some new ones. The devil is watching him, smirking, bow in mid-air, ready to strike again when Murdoc’s piece is over. And his next melody is even better – sweet like pie.

This is going to be the hardest thing Murdoc ever did. But he summons up everything he’s ever learned, everything he’s ever taught himself, and thinks of Noodle. He tries something that sounds like her – quirky and fast and powerful, and it doesn’t turn out bad at all.

 _For Noodle_.

The devil’s fifth piece is sad and slow, but his fingerwork is impeccable. Murdoc answers with something or other in a reggae rhythm, and he’d be the first to admit – it’s pretty average. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The devil sees it and grins, but he won’t call it off. He enjoys seeing Murdoc suffer and sweat, so he gives him another chance and strikes up another phrase, just a very short one, maybe two bars.

Murdoc’s fingers feel lead-heavy with fear, but his head is full of melody and rhythm. The music comes out of nowhere now, like it should. And when he drags them across the fingerboard, they wake up and tingle, and play as they should. He’s got the knack now. He’s jamming.

And now he loses count. How many turns they take – he has no clue. They go faster and faster, and better and better. The devil still smirks and one-ups everything Murdoc serves.

Unlike Murdoc, the muscles in his right arm never get tired, and his left thumb never needs a rest… and he won’t lose his concentration, like Murdoc is about to. He has to use better phrasing just to avoid playing faster and faster. The sinews in his right hand hurt from keeping up the pressure. But he can’t give up, he mustn’t give up as long as there’s still breath in him.

_Noodle. For Noodle._

He thinks of her big grin, under her shaggy hair, and how she can look right through anybody. Like she looks through him, like she sees how puny and small he really is, and she doesn’t care a fig.

_She’s mine._

Not “mine” like a possession. “Mine” because she chose to be his friend. What an incredible thing to do, when you think about it!

_My guitarist. Mine. Mine, mine, mine, mine!_

The devil has just played a slow, silvery melody, and now he waits for Murdoc to make his turn. If he expected him to answer in kind, he’s wrong. Murdoc has just opened a furnace he didn’t know he had. The wild heart. Small and puny, maybe, but full of things the devil hasn’t got. Passion. Joy. Anger. Has the great Lord of the Darkness ever even felt what it’s like to _want_ something, really want something from the bottom of your soul?

And Murdoc doesn’t know what’s happened, but something _has_ happened, and he’s not sure he has made it happen. His hands are playing things he never knew were in his head. His whole body is bow-taut, and his left hand is flying along the fingerboard on its own accord, and the right one hits the strings in perfect timing.

If he ever starts to think about what he’s doing, he’ll be fucked. So he tries his hardest not to think.

Lemmy, eat your heart out.

Geezer Butler, eat your heart out.

Paul Simonon, eat your heart out.

Steven Harris, eat your heart out.

And Jaco Pastorius… well. You know.

But then he does think. He looks at the devil, and he loses the music. And his right hand screams at his left hand _what the fuck are you doing_ , and his left hand screams _I don’t know, what the fuck am I doing??_ – and there is this one, terribly long, awful split second when Murdoc knows that the game is up.

It’s over.

And while it felt like eternity, it’s really a fraction of a second. A tiny fraction, so small, maybe the devil won’t even notice it, if you end it right. And so he ends it with a violent, slapped tuplet.

As the sound booms and fades, he’s suddenly empty. He’s as dry as the desert. There’s not a single spark of inspiration inside him that he could use next turn. But now Lucifer is going to play, and when he’s done, there will be new inspiration. Murdoc just knows it.

He breathes in and out shallowly, and waits for the devil to lift the bow.

But the devil stares at Murdoc, bow still in mid-air.

He never lifts it. He looks down on it sullenly and says: “Knew there wasn’t enough rosin on the bow. Should have used some.”

Just like that, it’s over. This time, for real. And it slowly dawns on Murdoc that he’s won.

No, this is unreal. This has got to be a dream. This… doesn’t happen. You don’t outplay the devil.

But Murdoc just did. Satan takes his violin down with a sour face and goes in search of rosin in the depths of the silver cabinet.

“I won”, says Murdoc, to the devil’s butt because the devil’s head is inside the cabinet.

“Yeah, smartypants”, says Satan. “Now piss off.”

Murdoc quickly gains his spirit back. He won. He fucking won! “I will. As soon as you give me Noodle!”

“I’ve just released her”, says the devil and wipes his brow tiredly.

“Where?”

“Uh. Somewhere on the earth’s crust.”

“Tell me where exactly!” shouts Murdoc. “What country, what city? What house?”

“Oh no. I’m not making it this easy for you. What, did you think I was going to put her in your arms so you can carry her off into the sunset? Blargh, I hate sentimental reunions. I said I would release her. I didn’t say I would hand her over to you like a parcel.”

Murdoc swears under his breath. This is why, he remembers, you don’t make deals with the devil. He’ll stick with his word, but _only_ his exact word. Last time Murdoc sold his soul for rock’n roll fame, and it took Satan 10 years to get him to that point. All because he didn’t specify “rock’n roll fame _now_ ”.

“But is she safe?” he urges.

“Yeah. It’s a safe place.”

“Good.”

“Now piss off. There’s the door.”

Murdoc turns around. There really is a little wooden door behind him now.

“Oh, and Murdoc?”

“Yes?”

“If – when – you come back here, try a little less of the emotional stuff. For a moment there, I almost sensed something like _love_.” The devil shudders. “Less of that, my good man.”

“I’ll do my best”, says Murdoc and grins. He’s done it. He’s really done it! Noodle is safe, and he can go home to continue his twisted, half-drugged existence. That’s all that matters.

He opens the door. A small avalanche of black, crumbly soil comes out of the doorframe, and covers him up to his knees.

“Seriously?” he asks Lucifer. “Can’t you just make it open into a street?”

But Lucifer has already turned away and is playing with the rosin and his bow. “Close the door behind you, will you.”

Murdoc sighs. He will have to dig, then. He straps the bass to his back, and starts to claw at the soil. Fortunately it’s wet, and soft, and very easy to push through. If you hold your head down, you can breathe into your collar without swallowing crumbs.

He can’t have gone far – maybe twenty feet, slowly upward – before his fingers come to a tough, unyielding mat. Must be grass roots. Nothing clogs up the ground like grass roots! Murdoc wedges himself into a secure position, gets out his switchblade, and starts sawing through the mesh of roots and soil.

Two minutes, and light and fresh air stream into the ground. Two more, and he has cut an opening big enough to squeeze through. First he stretches out a hand, then his head.

It’s like coming back from a different world. The light out here is so cool and dream-like, stars are in the sky and a breeze rustles through the bushes. Where is he? He looks around, then it dawns on him: this is his landlady’s back yard, and he has just wreaked havoc on her lawn.

It seems enormously funny now. Chuckling with exhilaration, Murdoc wiggles out of the ground, pulling his bass behind him. The back door is still unlocked, so he lets himself in.

He notices something is off when he switches on the light bulb in his flat. At first he thinks it must be a trick of the light – his skin looks all wrong. But what do you expect when you come back from hell, with all that red light? For a while, your eyes would see anything green by comparison, right?

He takes a shower, and as he walks past the mirror, he stops dead.

He’s still green. Green as a pistachio. _Everywhere._ And his face – it looks haggard and skinny as if he hasn’t eaten in weeks.

Murdoc examines his face and groans. _Hell-fire. It does things with you._ Ugh. If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was this mould chic. But then he decides to wear it proudly, like a battle scar.

“As long as nobody slaps a lappet collar on me and expects me to date pigs”, he mumbles, and sits on his bed and lights a fag.

Noodle is out there somehow, under the same sky. She will make her way back to him. Against demons, she had no chance, but now that she’s only facing mortals, he’s not worried any more. She’ll kick-ass her way back to him somehow, when she wants to.

Now all he has to do is get the rest of the band back together.


	4. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After four years of separation, they're all together again. But there's one thing standing in the way of domestic bliss in Wobble Street. Will they overcome the obstacle?
> 
> Of course they will. Soppiness and geyser-like volcanos of tears ahead. Beware!

Hell changes people, that’s what Murdoc keeps telling himself. Noodle hasn’t been the same. She hardly ever smiles these days. She walks as if the walls of the house might burn her. As if there’s something lurking inside her mind that she never talks about. She’s eighteen or nineteen now. A so-called adult, but (as you know once you’ve lived through three or more decades) still a little chicken.

She’ll calm down and forget all about the cyborg, Murdoc keeps telling himself. She’ll stop resenting him. They’re family. What choice do you have but to forgive your family?

And yet – Noodle sometimes gives him a look as if she’s a dog and he just kicked her. As if she expects more kicking from him. It would be hilarious if it wasn’t so unsettling.

They’ve been living at Wobble Street for three weeks now. It’s almost like Kong, much smaller, but with the same vibe. Except… well, Russel lives on the roof and Noodle is not Noodle. But at least face-ache is still the same.

One morning, the volcano breaks out. Murdoc never sees the smoke before it’s too late.

He’s lying on the couch in the living-room, nursing a hangover and who knows what else. He found some pills in his drawer last night. Didn’t remember from whom he bought them, or what they were supposed to do. In any case, he shouldn’t have swallowed _all_ of them. He could have used some to kill cows.

2D is down at the shops, and Russel is dozing on the roof. Noodle is raiding the fridge, making clattering noises in the kitchen.

“Noods!”

The clattering stops.

“Be a dear and bring me that ashtray”, Murdoc coughs. “From the windowsill. Can’t get up. Too wasted.”

Noodle looks around the doorframe, apparently very unwilling.

“Come on”, says Murdoc and rolled his eyes. “Please. There, I said please. Now gimme that ashtray.”

Noodle’s face vanishes. Half a minute later, she slinks into the room, the ashtray in one hand, lips firmly pressed together.

Murdoc pulls out his cigarettes and lights one. Noodle, he thinks, looks even more tense than usual.

“Right. What have I done _now_?”

Noodle’s face curls in disgust. “It’s nothing”, she says, and extends her arm as far as she can, so she doesn’t have to come closer to the couch to give Murdoc the ashtray.

But their fingers touch, and Noodle pulls her hand back as if she got burned. The ashtray falls to the ground with a ceramic bang.

“Why can’t you choke to death on your vomit!!” Then, her hand flies to her mouth, and she opens her eyes in shock about what she just said.

Murdoc draws one eyebrow up. It doesn’t shock _him_ all that much. He reaches out and picks up the ashtray. “Still being a sourpuss about Cyborg?”

Noodle trembles for four seconds. Then she erupts with unexpected fierceness. “I try to hate you. I tried so long to hate you, and I want to!” Then she chokes, and starts to sob. “But it’s not working. You raised me. How can I hate you?”

“Very dramatic, luv. But aren’t you overdoing it a bit?”

“This isn’t about the cyborg, it’s about me! What you did to me!” Her speech is still slow and deliberate, and her accent hasn’t changed at all. “You disgust me! I can’t stand to see your face! Your deals and your tricks! All for your rock star fame and your drugs and your… your…” She’s out of words.

“ _My_ deals and tricks got you famous, you ungrateful bint.”

“That’s all you think about! Fame! You sold me! You betrayed me! You let me rot in hell!” Noodle glares at him with fire in her puffy, reddened eyes.

Murdoc recoils. There are a thousand words on the tip of his tongue, but none of them leads to a convincing string of words. So he shuts up and stares back.

“You disgust me”, repeats Noodle. “Your green skin gives me the creeps. You look like a dead man. What piece of yourself did you sell with that? For what? Huh?”

And this is when it dawns on Murdoc: Noodle has no idea what happened.

He swallows _._ Apparently the battle isn’t over. There’s one last fight he has to win. He has never mentioned that night he bailed her out of hell. He never expected a thank-you, either. He kind of assumed she knew, and that they were even – he gave her a dumb idea, she played along, and in the end he set things right again. It never occurred to him that there might still be a foul sting in the tail of the whole story.

Deals with the devil, he thinks. Ugh.

So he sits still and thinks for a while. His drug-addled brain can’t think well today, but finally he reaches for his tablet and begins to browse. Noodle, meanwhile, dries her tears and sets her teeth firmly. Like a vengeful widow at her husband’s funeral, just before the katana comes out.

“Here, let me show you something”, says Murdoc and holds the tablet out to her. “This is a photo from New Years’ Eve, 2007.” It’s nothing special, just a bunch of people and confetti. “This is me, see? – And this is a mugshot, two weeks later. There’s the date, see? Notice something?”

Noodle stares at the two pictures. The tiniest bit of doubt flickers across her face.

Murdoc watches her closely. “New Years’ Day, 2008”, he says, “was the day I started to look like a dead man.”

Noodle lifts her head. Her eyes are as big as saucers. “New Years’ Day, 2008”, she whispers.

“New Years’ Day 2008 was the day they released you, wasn’t it?” hisses Murdoc, and he uses his voice like bait. He needs to get her hooked now, because frankly, the story he’s going to tell is ridiculous.

Noodle nods. She has never lost a word about the years she spent away. He never heard the date from her.

He stares right back in her face. “I looked all over this bloody globe for you and didn’t find so much as a hair.”

“No. No, it’s not true!” Noodle’s temper flares up once more. “You knew exactly where I was! You didn’t help me so you could keep up the good relations with the devil! You think I’m a fool?”

“New Years’ Day 2008”, Murdoc continues without flinching, “I asked the devil to help me find you, as a last resort. And he told me where you were. Got me a bit miffed, I don’t mind saying.”

For the fraction of a second, there’s another flicker of doubt on Noodle’s hard face. But it’s gone quickly. “No!” she cries. “You’re a dirty liar! You knew where I was, all this time! You knew, and you thought it was funny!”

Murdoc sits up too quickly and promptly feels another wave of sickness. “Is that what they told you? That I gave them permission to torture you? Use your bloody brain. They’re lower hell demons. They’d tell you the moon is red if it made you miserable! That’s all they do, you stupid goose!”

Noodle heaves, trying to catch her breath.

“They told you that, didn’t they? They would.”

They did. He can see it on Noodle’s face.

“So”, he growls in just the right emphasis, “I packed my bass and I went down to hell. And there I made another deal.”

It’s working. Horror and rancour, sadness and fascination are chasing over Noodle’s face.

Murdoc leans forward. “The devil wouldn’t give you up, and a mortal can’t force the devil. But I offered him a battle. Bass against fiddle. If he lost, he’d set you free. And if he won, he’d cash my soul on the same day.”

Noodle swallows. Then she gives a huge sob, and her tears start to flow again. And how!

“Stop bawling, brat. I was just coming to the best part!”

But there’s no stopping now. Noodle sighs and snots into her sleeves.

“What’s so terrible now?! You know how the story ends!”

Noodle sobs a few times. It sounds like whoop… whoop… hic… whoop. “Yes, I know”, she whimpers.

“I sssmmmmashed him”, growls Murdoc. “And he was good. But he had nothing on me, and I had more to lose. I battered him, and then I deep-fried him and had him for breakfast. Oh, you should have heard me! I’ll never play like that again, luv, never! And the worst thing is, I don’t remember what I played!”

Through the tears and the snot, Noodle’s mouth forms a tiny, faint smile. The first Murdoc has seen in weeks.

“Oh look, the sun’s coming out! Now will you stop crying or what? You already know there’s a happy ending, what more do you want?”

She doesn’t want anything. She wants to keep leaking.

“Yep, a happy ending”, Murdoc says, more to himself, and looks at his hands. “Except that I got a bit too close to hellfire. It does that with you. Looks dashing, though.”

“You did that for me”, Noodle whimpers.

“Yeah. For an ungrateful bitch who believes demons more than her fr… her band. Who wants me to choke on my puke.”

Noodle wails even more. She just won’t stop. There seems to be an underground reservoir.

“Did you really – did you really, for four years – even for a minute! – believe I left you to rot in hell?”

She nods. What else was she supposed to do? They told her that, for almost two years, and they kept the wound festering meticulously.

_You can get someone out of hell, but it takes much longer to take hell out of them…_

 

When 2D drags his groceries to the kitchen, he stops in his tracks. He hasn’t heard this sound in years: Noodle is laughing like a banshee. Murdoc is snickering somewhere in between.

“And then he said… he said: Piss off, there’s the door!”

In bewilderment, 2D looks around the corner into the living-room. Murdoc is lying on the couch, Noodle is sitting on the backrest, and they’re both laughing their heads off.

“Hello”, Noodle calls out and waves. “Did you bring chocolate?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Noodle comes bouncing over, takes the bags out of his hands as if they weighed nothing, and runs off. “I’ve got to go up to the roof and give Russel his breakfast!” she shouts over her shoulder. “Be right back!”

2D stays exactly as he was, his hands still in bag-carrying position but empty.

“Did you tell her a joke?” he asks.

“Oh yes, and what a joke.” Murdoc gets up shakily, and listens to rumbling sound of Noodle running up the stairs. “Hehe. Welcome back.”

“Gee, thanks, Murdoc.”

“Not you, face-ache!”

“Oh. Okay.”


End file.
